


Their Divorce Sex

by slagsmacker



Category: Scrubs
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-03
Updated: 2011-02-03
Packaged: 2017-10-15 08:33:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/158999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slagsmacker/pseuds/slagsmacker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Believe me Demonella, if I could go back and get a divorce for every day we were married, I would.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Their Divorce Sex

  
Following the proceedings, exactly 5 minutes and 23 seconds pass before they seal their divorce with sex in a courthouse bathroom.

Perry is washing his hands, wondering blankly whether he could avoid going home by sleeping in the on-call room, when Jordan struts in,

“Oh good, there you are…take off your pants.”

He is not particularly surprised, one of the reasons he loved her (he is careful to emphasize the past tense in his mind, he has a piece of paper to prove that now) was for unpredictable stunts like this. Still, in theory at least, she shouldn’t be using the, ’I’ll tell you how high to jump,’ voice now he has cut her loose. There must be _some_ perks to getting a divorce.

“Listen Lilth, number one - no matter how big you think your balls are, this is the men’s room, _ergo_ no she demons allowed. Na-um-ber two, that big pile of money you just crow-barred out of me? That was a down payment on naaawt having to see you again. So, so long succubus,”

He salutes her as he passes, but before he can make it to the door she grabs his belt and reels him back in.

“Come on Per-per,” Jordan’s breath is hot on his neck and he can hear the sexy smirk in her voice, “don’t you want to celebrate?”

“Don’t get me wrong, the fact that I am not chained to you anymore makes me want to sing Hosanna…in harmony with Hugh Jackman …then throw a full eighteen block parade,”

Perry looks down at her, she has cut her hair since he last saw her. She looks good. Even so, he manages to muster the willpower to remove her hands from his belt buckle and finish up his rant like a man,

“Unfortunately, you’re not invited.”

Jordan shrugs her shoulders and he thinks he has, _finally_ , won an argument. Then she goes and blows it,

“Not even for old times sake?”

She doesn’t pout like most women would, in fact Perry is pretty sure he can detect an eye roll. Nevertheless, the words hit their mark. Jordan is not stupid, she knows that, even when he wanted to strangle her with an IV drip, the old times involved some pretty spectacular sex.

And he’s missed it (not her, never her).

He puts his hands on his head and grits his teeth,

“Fine Jordan, you’ve got fifteen minutes.”

She scoffs,

“Like you ever needed more.”

Before he can call her a bitch, her hand is snaking towards his crotch. Just the familiar smell of her perfume is making him hard in anticipation, and he hates himself a little bit - and her a lot - for it. When her fingers start to massage him through his trousers he lets out a tension loaded breath. Surprisingly, Jordan also moans at the contact. For a second, Perry wonders why she is doing this. He finds it hard to believe the black widow hasn’t feasted on some poor man in the last six months. If he was still legally obliged to care (for better, or much, much worse), he might read more into this than sex. But that, thank the none existent big guy in the sky, was no longer his job. Instead, he tries to focus all his energy on the sound of his zipper being lowered, the way she knows how to grip his shaft _just right_.

Honestly, it is not too difficult for Perry to make his mind go blank. Jordan is stroking him, from the base of his cock to the tip, firmly and persistently. He leans against the sink behind him and lets her nip and suck at his throat in a way he always pretended to hate. He only stops her once she reaches the corner of his unyielding lips,

“Buh-buh-buh,” he places a hand between their mouths, “I don’t know where you’ve been,”

“Charming,” she drawls sarcastically and reaches underneath her skirt to pull her panties down her long legs.

At this point, Perry realizes he has barely touched her. A part of him doesn’t want to. As far as he’s concerned, the last person to go there was Petey, and he doesn’t want to be sloppy-seconds to that smarmy son of a bitch. On the flip side, another part of him (the alpha male part that punched a wall after she left, and would have punched Petey if they didn’t have to work together) wants to touch her in a way that will make her forget her own name, never mind any other bastard’s.

True to the form of their dearly departed marriage, the decision is taken out of his hands as Jordan unceremoniously pushes down his pants, rolls a condom onto his penis, then bends over the bathroom counter. Her skirt is bunched around her waist and, from this angle, he can see both the curve of her ass and the wetness of her cunt glistening between parted thighs. For a moment he enjoys the view. Then Jordan stares pointedly over her shoulder and snaps,

“Well? We’re not at a portrait gallery Perry…”

Her annoyed tone causes his cock to throb almost painfully, and for about the millionth time he wishes he wasn’t so turned on by her temper.

“Calm down dragon,” he mutters and runs a hand along her clothed back.

His hand looks big and foreign between her shoulder blades, so he pushes down a little too harshly, hoping to elicit a recognizable response. Jordan’s elbows buckle and her face nearly hits the tile. However, she doesn’t yell at him to watch her new nose, but groans loudly at the rough treatment. As the sound echoes off the walls, Perry realizes he doesn’t want to do it like this, entering from behind so she can imagine she’s fucking just about anyone. He pulls her upright until her whole body is pressed against his, then turns her around and looks right into her brown eyes.

They, of course, narrow,

“What the hell…”

“Shut up,” he demands, then hoists her up and moves forward in one fluid motion.

It must the end of days, because the slide inside, the way he stretches and fills her, actually renders Jordan speechless. Her head tilts back, cheeks flushing with arousal, and an unexpected, unwanted surge of affection nearly makes Perry drop her. Instead, he perches his (ex) wife on the counter and, driven by instinct, she wraps her legs around him, bringing their bodies so close it is almost uncomfortable. Rather than acknowledge the way his nose is now buried in her hair, nudging behind her ear to find that spot he knows she likes, Perry focuses all his attention on setting a fast and punishing rhythm. He wants her to be sore tomorrow, wants her to remember it was him pushing in and out, digging his fingernails into her hip bones, grinding against her with each hard thrust.

Ever since he has known her - and boy did he _know_ her within an hour of the first time they met - Jordan has liked to play a little game called, ‘hide the orgasm.' Astoundingly, the way she is kneading and clutching at his back suggests she won’t be able to pretend she hasn’t come this time. Whilst Perry is thrilled by the way her breath is so short and sharp against his neck, he is also disgusted that it takes a divorce for her to be honest with him in bed (well, bathroom). Wanting this to be over, so he can go home to a bottle of whiskey and a bed that doesn’t smell like her anymore, Perry shifts a hand between them and starts to rub furiously at her clit. The extra stimulation pushes Jordan over the edge and she comes breathlessly, her cunt spasming _just perfectly_ around his cock as he continues to move.

Seemingly angry that she can not fake indifference, Jordan bites down on his shoulder as she rides out her orgasm. That’s all Perry needs; the sting of her teeth, combined with her tightness, makes him ejaculate so hard he can’t think at all for the next few minutes.

He comes around to find her pushing him off her, none too gently. As he tucks himself away, his vision is hazy and his mouth is dry. Perry turns to the sink for a drink, but she has beaten him to it and is splashing water on her almost composed face. Before he can stop himself he thinks, _that’s my girl_ \- apart from an unusual lack of makeup, replaced with a cat who got the cream smugness, Jordan looks exactly the same as when she strolled in.

Sensing his appraisal she turns back towards him,

“I guess that was alright, we should get divorced more often,” her words are flippant, but Perry can see her left hand is still shaking.

He grimaces and slips back into giving as good as he gets,

“Believe me Demonella, if I could go back and get a divorce for every day we were married, I would.”

“That’s sweet dear,”

Perry expects to Jordan to leave on that caustic note, but she comes closer, reaching a hand into his curls and tugging lightly in order to bring him down and kiss her on the lips. She is softer than she has any right to be, and they pull away from each other slowly.

“See you around,” Jordan promises.

As she sways off, out the bathroom and towards her lair, Perry hits his head against the mirror. He knows Jordan never makes idle threats.


End file.
